


221 Baker Blues

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ANOTHER WIP BUT I NEED THIS ONE DOWN, AU because this is defiantly not following the show, BAMF/John, Bad assed Mary, Blood, F/M, Guns, Happy Ending, I WANT BOTH THIS AND MY OTHER WIP DONE BY NEW YEAR, I like her, John swears like a damn sailor, Kidnapping, Maybe - Freeform, Moriarty is evil when he's bored, Nightmares, OFCs and I don't care to be honest ;), Terrible language, Violence, Well - Freeform, but he's sexy so ..., but in a good way, erm, ish, minor harm to a child, please be patient, promise to keep it very minor, seriously though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has already met Mary. She was another sharp shooter sent in to John's team. Months on an unknown mission they got to know each other VERY well. Then, as the mission reaches its peak, John is shot and invalid home to England. </p><p>Mary vanishes. </p><p>Well, that is until one day she ends up at 221B Baker Street with a young daughter in her arms. <br/>---</p><p>Sherlock was having such a nice day. That was until Mrs Hudson introduced her niece, Rachel. She was as sharp and as smart as Sherlock. Maybe more. Sherlock hates her. She sees things he cannot, deduces what he missed and she takes pleasure from watching him squirm. </p><p>So why can't he avoid her? Why does he feel different around her? <br/>And why does Rachel try so hard to make him smile and laugh?<br/>---</p><p>Moriarty is bored and Sherlock has so much going on. He may just need to give everyone a little push to dance for him. </p><p>****</p><p>A lot is going on. Lust turns to love turns to hate turns to love. Or something like that. </p><p>ENJOY. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS. KIDNAPPING. <br/>MINOR HARM TO A CHILD<br/>BAD ASS MOTHER GOES BAD ASS</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John had just received orders. He and a chosen team of the best soldiers where heading into the unknown. All he was told was that he was the best medic in their quarters and he has no choice. The mission needed him so he went. Packed up and shipped out in the middle of the night, half dead on his feet from patching up his brothers' in arms all afternoon and most of the night. He had two hours sleep before the higher ups sent him his orders. Two hours sleep and no time for a quick shower. People were waiting. 

John sighed internally but his adrenaline was pumping hard and fast. He was off into the unknown, danger could be anywhere, lives in his hands at all times. He knew he was a ducking good shot, the best even. Well, one of anyway. There were times when he was offered the assassin job title but he refused. He liked healing. Not killing. But every solider has their bad days. 

Once ready and shoved into the back of an army vehicle, he gave himself a chance to look at the team. It was small, consisting of three men (including himself) and two women. 

"Captain John Watson, Field Medic." He announced sharply, using what his comrades described as his 'Captain Voice'. It held a more authoritative tone to it, making his voice seem deeper than normal. A tone not messed with or ignored when issuing orders in the desert. 

The others in the van just looked at him straight, nodded once and remained silent for a moment. Before a female voice rang through the silence, cutting the tension with her own authoritative tone. "Lieutenant Mary Morstan, Front Lines. And I'll be leading this team. That's why I chose you all." Her face then softened slightly. "And no Captain, I'm in the dark just as much as you are." She then gestured to her left, "This young lady is Private Sophie Maddison. Technical support. She's a wiz kid with everything from communications to tracking. Best in the forces." 

"Call me Maddie ma'am." She announced, nodding her head once to John and the Lieutenant. She then sat back into the shadows, leaning against the wall of the van. 

"And these two fellas beside you," she gestured first to the man who had been situated between John and the one male on the far end, "that one is Private Benjamin Harrold and his partner, Private John Ford. Both are quite handy with a weapon and perfect scouts. You, Captain John you are here because you're the best damn medic available. And I'm sure we'll need that with whatever we have coming."

***

As it turned out, John was the one who need an emergency evac. Months on this mission, taking down the terror cells and the enemy quietly and in the shadows and John gets shot on the most important secret mission. The one thing the team had been building up to and still no one knew what it was. Just that the orders were official. 

Months of befriending Mary. Months of secret fondling in the shadows. Months of bandaging up small or minor injuries. Months of planning, Preparation and everything in between. Lost. All in a gunshot wound the the left shoulder. A through and through leaving him bleeding out in the sand. A bullet grazing his thigh. John can remember thinking that there was too much blood soaking the sand for a minor scrape. 

Then he remembered. Maddie was still in the firing line. Hurt and scared. The bullets kept coming from somewhere. John had to focus one last time. 

One shooter. To the left. On a hight. 

John looked. Found. Took aim and hit home. The shooting stopped and the adrenaline flared as he moved for Maddie. Once he reached her, she paled. 

"Doc!?" 

Then the lights went out

***

 

John woke in a London hospital with his discharge papers and an address of a half way house for invalid soldiers. He had lost everything. Nightmares haunted him. His shoulder was fucked. His leg ached and his hand shook. He was useless. And he still had no idea what happened, how he got out and where his team ended up. 

Everything was as grey and dull as it was before he joined the army. He was back to being useless. He couldn't even be a surgeon anymore. His life was ruined. He was ruined. 

Until he met Sherlock Holmes and moved into a life of crime and danger. The battle field once more.


	2. Chapter 2

John had been back home for almost seven months. Six of those months, he had been happily living along side Sherlock Holmes, chasing criminals in London, solving difficult cases, he had even been kidnapped seven times (not counting Mycroft thank you very much). Previous to this, he had learned he had spent six months in hospital over all. Surgery after surgery to fix his damn shoulder. They refused to let him leave until he ate something and he had been on suicide watch at least three times. So now, just over one year since he had last seen his friends from the army, he felt saddened that he had no idea what happened. Did they complete the mission and went their separate ways? Did they continue on in the secrete ops? Did they die?

'NO' Johns scowled at himself, propping himself onto the edge of the bed and rubbed his tired eyes. 'There's plenty of nightmares without having to think the team dead!' 

John pushed himself from his bed and gathered himself up in his thick gown and Freddie lightly down the stairs. It was still dark in the flat, so it must still be early. John had another bad nightmare last night. Blood and sand filling his longs till he drowned, unable to get to his fallen comrades. Those were the worst for him. They sneered and scowled. They blamed him and taunted him as he drowned in his own blood, the sand swallowing him hole. 

"John. Stop it." He mumbled to himself as he sneaked into the living room and then into the kitchen in hopes of a soothing cuppa and some very light reading. What he got was something else entirely. 

"You shouldn't mumble John. It's a sign of useless education and I know you're not too thick." Came the baritone voice of Sherlock Holmes, startling John as he reached for his best mug. With John's frayed nerves, it was no wonder that the mug went hurling across the darkness in the direction of the voice. John's heart hammered but his body was positively still. It wasn't until John heard the tell take thump of the cup make contact with a body and the groan of the lanky detective. 

"SHIT!!" John shouted as he kicked his arse into gear. He switched on the living room light, showing Sherlock curled against his chair, a hand clutching at his right shoulder and the pieces of John's shattered mug. 

John rushed to Sherlock, avoiding the chaos of broken ceramic to now and inspected his best friend. And he sighed then hung his head. John hadn't managed to cut the detective at all. Mostly bruised his shoulder. But his mug had paid the price. 

"Does it hurt?" John asked in his doctor's tone, gently prodding at the shoulder. 

"Of course it does!" Sherlock hissed, and flinched when John squeezed his shoulder harder than necessary.

"GOOD! You idiotic fucking idiot! What the hell were you thinking!? You scared the fucking shite out of me you fucking prat!" John yelled and thumped the bruised shoulder for good measure. 

"Ow!" Sherlock yelled, scooting away from John. "You were the one who walked right past me. How was I to know you didn't see me? You never observe John." Sherlock huffed and pouted. 

"Fuck off." John replied without the anger that had built up before. "You owe me a new mug you prick." John stood and went back to finish making the tea in a new mug and also one for the lanky idiot of a detective. 

***

The morning went by as usual, the boys sitting there respective seats, bantering back and forth with one another, the broken mug from early in the morning was forgotten. 

"Lestrade." Sherlock suddenly jumped up when he heard the tell take step of the DI. "What is it and where?" Sherlock got out, not giving the detective inspector time to catch his breath, let alone speak. 

"One male, locked room with no windows. Looks to be tortured before dying." Lestrade was paler than usual as he looked over the two men before him. Sherlock heard the man gulp before speaking once more, "a man of medium build but a little on the short side. Blonde sandy hair." He looked right at John. "He was faced down. I had to .."

"You moved the body!?" Sherlock hissed out while putting his coat on, only once noticing the tension in air. John looked stiff and Lestrade looked as though he wanted to faint and cry together. 

"Sherlock." John said weakly before putting on his own coat. He debuted Lesrade's look before the man had said anything. "It'll be fine Greg. Honestly. Let's go."

"There's something else you should know before you turn up there." Lestrade got out while the three of them exited the building and climbed into Lestrade's plane car. It was the only reason Sherlock didn't argue this time. "There's a message for you." 

***

The scene was bloody and distressing. Even Sherlock gasped softly. The victim on the floor was strikingly similar to his best friend and the message was as clear as the nose on his face. 

'All toys are made to break and he was breaking mine. Only fair I broke him in return. Although, this once will do. For now. Take care soldier boy. I'll be watching Sherlock.   
Love M x'

The message was written with the victims blood, delectably sneered against the walls. John growled after reading then stormed from the room. That's all it was. A room. Obviously it was built around the victim once he had died from the blood loss. The torture was after death, to shield the fact that the body was used only for the blood. 

"Moriarty does like to be dramatic." Sherlock finished. "Lestrade, you will not find the man responsible for this. This is Mycroft's area. You'll find that he has already taken over the case. Good day." And he left in search of his best friend.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock found John in the nearest pub to the flat. John had managed to walk three blocks before Sherlock had realised he had left. Sherlock sighed and slid into the stool next to John and ordered a whiskey on the rocks. He turned to his best friend. 

"Mycroft has mentioned that he is closer to finding him and he's informed me that security measures have been increased. You're as safe as possible. Probably safer than the queen right about now." Sherlock mumbled softly. 

After the pool incident a couple of months back, Sherlock had made a promise to pass anything Moriarty related over to his brother and step back from the case. It was too dangerous. For himself and John. So he had promised John not to be roped into it any more in hopes that Moriarty would get bored of him and move on. It had worked for a couple of months. Up until now. 

John remained quiet and dipped his drink so sherlock continued; "he won't get to you this time John. Even his empire is crumbling around his ears, it has been for a while now."

That got John's attention. "That's what we were doing." He whispered and gulped his pint down in one. "Top secret mission that got me fucking shot. So that was also the pig headed prick in a suit." John hissed. "I was ruining his so he's going to ruin me. Well ... He can try. There'll be a bullet in his brain before he even gets anything on me. Snipers be damned."

"That's my John." Sherlock whispered and ordered another round. Thankful that John had giggled a little. 

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon making John giggle, trying to ensure that the morning was forgotten. He would never admit it but he was actually enjoying himself. 

"Right. It's almost six. We've been here long enough. Come on you lanky git. We've gotta get him and eat." John slid from the stool, landing on wobbly legs, both happily tipsy as they made their way from the pub and into the streets. 

They walked the remaining block back to the flat and stumbled inside in a fit of giggles. This brought out a young woman from Mrs Hudson's flat, along with the landlady herself. 

 

"Oh my boys." She tutted a little. 

"Oh don't worry Aunt H. I'm sure that Sherlock was ensuring his friend had a good time. After all, not everyone manages to dodge a flying mug and not get scared in the process." The young woman smirked softly, Mrs Hudson chuckled as the boys mouths hung open. 

"How ...?" Was what sounded like a shocked whisper from John. 

"Well, Sherlock is tensing his right shoulder a lot more than his left so obviously he in pain. He also has some ceramic on the bottoms of his trousers, could be clay from walking around but it also matches the light ceramic in his hair ..." At this she stopped forward and pulled a piece of broken ceramic from the detective's curls. "Judging that it matches the small amounts of dust at his feet, it's only logical that someone throw a mug towards him, landing on his right shoulder. Nice shot by the way." 

"Oh dear lord, now there's three of you!?" John groaned and made his way towards the stairs, muttering about Holmes's and their family. 

"Actually John," Mrs Hudson calls out, stopping John on the stairs. "This is Rachel. My niece. She has just as much observational skills as Sherlock and not that much younger than you both either. Just a few years.."

"Aunt H! No matchmaking! You promised!" Growled the young woman and stormed into 221A. 

"Defiantly not related." Muttered Sherlock, shaking his curls and leaving a grinning Mrs Hudson on the bottom landing.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel sighed as she say at her Aunt's table, nursing a hot cup of coffee while her Aunt pottered around behind her. The smells of freshly baked scones filled the room, and Rachel couldn't help but grin softly. 

 

"All I'm saying love, is give them a chance." Mrs Hudson spoke from behind Rachel, making her jump a little. 

 

"I never said I wouldn't." Was the reply. 

 

When Rachel turned, she saw the gleam in her Aunt's eyes, and she sighed heavily. "I don't need a man. I just found you, why would I need to find a man now?" 

 

"Oh hunny," Mrs Hudson beamed softly, and wrapped her arms around her niece's shoulders, "I'm glad you found me. I am. But every woman needs a friend their own age as well you know." 

 

Mrs Hudson stepped away after placing a small kiss to Rachel's head and set up a tea tray. "Now be a dear and send these up will you? Those boys look like they could use one."

 

 

"And you can't, why exactly?" Rachel muttered while abandoning the coffee and stood to take the tray anyway. 

 

"My hip dear." Mrs Hudson gave her knowing smirk and left Rachel to it. 

 

***

 

 

The boys of 221B settled into their chairs, John chuckling while Sherlock pouts and huffs like the man child he is. 

"Oh come on Sherlock, she's a not all bad. Just a female version of yourself. With more social understanding." John chuckled at Sherlock's glare. 

"She's annoying." Sherlock muttered, sinking further into a sulk. 

 

"As much as I appreciate the back lash of what ever is going on, any way no. I don't." Rachel growled as she entered with the tea-tray. "I'm not someone's gossiping tool. It just looked like he ..." Pointing the tray towards John ... "Needed a little more of a nudge towards happy." 

Both men jumped as Rachel came in unnoticed and placed the tray on top of whatever papers littered what should have been a table. 

Sherlock was about to say something scathing, but John beat him to the punch. 

 

"How did you do it? How did you manage to see all that." John gestured with his hands, his eyes wide with honest wonder. "I mean, I've known that git for a while and I've seen him work. But I've never managed it."

 

"Well," Rachel was about to speak before Sherlock interrupted. 

 

"Some people need a weapon when being brought up in this country's foster service."   
Sherlock spoke around a freshly backed scone and refused to see the smirk on John's face. 

"And I guess some boys never grow out of trying to impress those around him. What's wrong Sherlock, didn't like being slower than the brother?" Rachel snipped back and folded her arms tight against her chest for a pitiful defence. 

 

Sherlock was about to answer, given the death glare he sent, but the bell chimed. One ring and exactly 1.5 seconds. 

 

"Client!" Both boys muttered happily and Rachel groaned. But she didn't leave. She just had to wind Sherlock up a little more and decided to hang around.


End file.
